The car engine buzzed over the silent drive to Mr. and Mrs. Freeman’s home while a sealed wooden box rattled lightly in the back of Allie’s van. The brown crate had the shape of a bone printed on top. Underneath it, a message read, "We'll miss you, Mr. Pops."
Allie glanced at Dean, who held his chin on his hand with his pupils fixed on the freeway. He hadn't changed his expression since the police returned Pop's body at noon.
“I’m repeating myself, but thank you for fixing my A/c," she said.
"Yeah, sure." Dean was brief, deeming it hard to distract him from thinking about his dog. His girlfriend held his hand as she maneuvered the steering wheel.
“Most people might think he was just a dog but to me, he wasn't," said Dean.
"He was your friend, and he deserves to be
